


All it takes to shatter a witcher's world....

by Miss_LuniLup



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Author isn't a native english speaker so pls be nice but honest, Character Death, Feelings, Letters, M/M, Major Character Injury, The Author Regrets Nothing, War, Well maybe author regrets it a little bit, mentions of injury and gore, slash or friendship depends on reader's own decision
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_LuniLup/pseuds/Miss_LuniLup
Summary: ... is a letter. Set within the plot of the third game but could be considered engaging even without knowing much of it.Novigrad is attacked by the aggressors of the war and, in an attempt to hold the city itself, general military service for every man and citizen of Novigrad is state-imposed. One of these townsmen is the bard Dandelion and he is taken into the duties of war too. One must serve two years in battle ere they are either released, receiving a small ransom or may proceed with his military career. These circumstances are the setting in which a certain field post finds a certain Witcher, carrying promising news. That is, hopeful in the beginning, worrying in throughout the story and saddening as it nears its end.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii|Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier|Dandelion (implied/can be read as such)
Kudos: 23





	All it takes to shatter a witcher's world....

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear people of the internet! 
> 
> Since I don't want to keep you away from the story for any more time than strictly necessary, let's cut right to the chase, yes?
> 
> As mentioned in the tags, I am not a native English speaker. Please keep that in mind when reading the story but do not shy away from telling me off for any mistakes or weird constructions, etc. Just keep it constructive and it will be much appreciated!
> 
> The Disclaimer is, as one might expect: plotline's mine, characters and premise for the whole "AU" aren't. I do not gain any monetary or otherwise material goods by this story, I just have a little fun playing with our two loveable dorks.
> 
> Lastly, please consider reviewing in any way, shape or form; be it to criticise, praise or question some aspect of the story. If you have questions in general, then, by all means, ask away! 
> 
> Otherwise, just keep in mind that for someone who only writes stories for fun as I do, reviews, comments and kudos are the only palatable form of feedback we get. 
> 
> That's all! I hope you enjoy the story,  
> (Miss) LuniLup

Frowning, Geralt stared down onto the field post that has just reached him. The young runner, emaciated, red-haired and blue-eyed, searched for something in his leather satchel and the Witcher decided that he could take his eyes away from the boy and instead direct his attention to the letter only.

The envelope was as simple and ordinary as all the times before, when a plain field post reached him. In the right corner, the red wax seal of Novigrad was impressed and, flush left was the general information about the letter’s origin.

**Field post correspondence**

**Issued to the soldiers of the 11th cohort**

**Issued and transmitted on the 13th November 1272**

**Recipient** : _Geralt of Riva_

 **Place of destination** : _Kaer Morhem (continent) or Corvo Bianco (continent) or on first sight (wherever that may be)_

**Deliverance of the letter and the leather pouch is, under all circumstances, receipted with the recipient’s signature**

Yes, the envelope’s front seemed common enough. Instead, it was the backside of it that concerned Geralt. The back was adorned with different runes, keeping the letter sealed and enabling only the receiver to open the mailer. It was unusual, to say the least. Too many field posts passed through the administration of Novigrad in this wartime to ensure everyone’s privacy and casting such strong protection spells over a letter was very time- and energy-consuming. Yet, Dandelion’s letter was sealed, and the poet was only a simple foot soldier, not one of the important and irreplaceable.

“Not for the military, at least,” Geralt thought sourly, a tiny flicker of offence on his friend’s behalf stirring within him. While the bard certainly was not the best fighter, he was otherwise a very amiable man, charming and with his easy-going attitude a good companion to cheer someone up. His bright smile and the twinkle in his eyes, paired with his foolishly handsome looks, often lead to various people assuming that he was a half-elf. But the wordsmith was just a mere mortal with the sweetest disposition and the purest of all hearts – if one ignored his Kiss and Tell stories, of course. But with his mild temper, his pleasing singing voice and godly lute-playing it certainly was no wonder that so many women fancied the man.

Geralt shook himself out of his mind and his unusual mild thoughts towards his friend and focused his attention back on the letter. The warrior opened the envelope carefully and the runes dissolved slowly, blending into the mailer’s paper, the Witcher meanwhile reached into the envelope.

With an even darker frown, Geralt noted that he held two paper sheets in his hands as opposed to the ordinary single paper he usually received. Another anomaly but the Witcher forbad himself to speak of the metaphorical devil (one never knew, after all, if there wouldn’t be a real demon clawing at one’s face within the next monster hunt).

He unfolded the letters and with relief, he saw the usual layout on the first page. Who knew, maybe Dandelion was granted a few privileges as he soon would be through with his two-years-term?

In the left corner, the green wax seal of the family de Lettenhove was impressed. Geralt’s eyes roamed over the seal, well-known and familiar to him. He took a deep breath and forced the uncomfortable stinging of worry down, telling himself “Stop worrying over the bard! He’s a grown man - even if he rarely behaves like this.”

**Issued on the 10th November, 11th cohort of Novigrad**

**valid till the 8th December, the 1272nd year, Anno Domini**

**Forwarder:** _Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount “Dandelion” de Lettenhove_

**Recipient:** _Geralt of Riva_

**Destination:** _Kaer Morhem (continent) or Corvo Bianco (continent) or on first sight (wherever one might meet him)_

**Important annotation of deputy general and administrative office director Melissa von Daam: The deliverance of the note is to be acknowledged by a signature. Same for the leather pouch**

Geralt drew his eyebrows upwards, reading the note of the unknown woman. The words were typed with the cheap typewriter of the war administrative and the note set off the mild ringing of warning bells, an instinct Geralt had acquired over the years. An instinct that, till this day, never had failed the Witcher and always was right when the man was to tap into a trap, be a “victim” of an attack or when bad news awaited him.

Now the worry rose again and this time Geralt did not attempt to fight it. Curiosity and worry urged him to keep reading the words in the well-known script.

_Dearest Geralt!_

_Forgive my long silence, my good friend, but you know the days here are, as to be expected during the war, rather ~~traumatizing~~ busy. And these last days even more so than usual! _

_We may still lie unchanged at the border to the fortress Eschenberg, yet the foe has not gained any land too and under our current situation, this is a blessing in and on itself._

_Sadly, even this stagnation at the front is no reason to allow me to leave two months sooner. Instead, I shall have to wait until my two years are indeed up, meaning still eight weeks to go or acquire a ~~near-lethal~~ painful but harmless injury. _

_But be that as it is! I doubt that it will make that big of a difference. Of course, I am well aware of the dangers of war and the silence about the front at home before you even dare to accuse me of carelessness and ignorance. But, dear fellow, please do not catastrophize beforehand, although you are rather prone to it, I know, I know._

_After all, the attacks with poison and other deadly potions have ceased some days before and we have some peace and quiet. As far as one can have peace at war… This oxymoron, now that I think about it, would provide a magnificent topic for a ballad, don’t you agree? Please, be so kind and remind me of it, if when I return to your side._

_Alas! Stop your frowning Geralt! You may be older than me but there is no reason to look like it too. I told you often enough that frowning benefits wrinkles and it would not look fit for a warrior like you to look your actual age._

_I see - apparently, I have to reassure you once more, despite my already countless attempts, the first at my departure, the last my letter prior to this one. Of the 24 months, I had to serve, I have not ~~pegged out~~ been too indisposed to write my letters to you. I write them with nearly religious fervour as I take our correspondences very seriously like I seldom do if I might add this so consider yourself a lucky fellow. _

_Thus, my good chap, do not worry yourself so much over myself!_

_Soon you will be back in the pleasure of my company. Should it be not too much of a hassle please ~~send a carriage or a simple horse upon my return. My leg still has not healed fully and now that the weather is~~ ~~worsening, it gets colder, the pain grows more and more unbearable~~ prepare me a room at Corvo Bianco. If you can spare the time and room, of course. _

_Farewell till we meet in two months, give or take the three days I need to find you._

_Remember to smile and not to worry till I am there again to cheer you up my dearest, most formidable and loyal companion!_

_Dandelion_

_Post scriptum: I’d like to hope that this letter arrives you before mys_

The word broke off midway and if that would not have been enough to deeply unsettle Geralt, Dandelion would rather give his left arm than leave any piece of writing unfinished, the bright red dots across the paper did the trick. Geralt, as a warrior, monster slayer and general target for drunks who sought out a hearty brawl, had seen more than his fair share of blood. Years of a dangerous life enabled him to recognize blood, no matter its amount, instantly. And the last 22 months had him worried sick over his friend.

Dread befell his heart and his pulse, normally slower than an ordinary mortal’s heartthrob, now rivalled the heartbeat of a small bird. No plain worry but fear, fear for a dear friend, a most trusted companion and a man who had proved himself to be the most reliable in his times of need, fear in its purest form cajoled to Geralt to read on, to find the reason for the unexpected disruption.

His heart stuttered when his eyes did not see the familiar script of his best friend but instead the typed letters of the cheap typewriters.

**Dear Sir of Riva,**

**On behalf of the city Novigrad, I was requested to inform you of these following, sad news.**

**With my heartfelt condolences, I am forced to inform you of the passing of one Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount de Lettenhove, otherwise known as Dandelion. During an attack of the fiend, the Private E2 was mortally injured and succumbed to this injury, in the line of duty.**

**The cause of his death will be transmitted to you through a copy of the official autopsy report. It is supposed to prevent your suffering caused by a lack of knowledge.**

**I must express my regret that I am forced to stain this last remainder and memory of your friend with this most dreadful news. But, good Sir, I must ask you to endure it for otherwise there is no way of us, the war administration, to inform you of his passing.**

**Along with this letter you will find, according to the wish of Monsieur de Lettenhove, his soldier’s ransom of 230 guilders.**

**I must ask you to acknowledge the deliverance of both, the letter and money, with a quick signature.**

**Again, I feel obliged to offer you my sympathy.**

**I am afraid that it will neither mean much to you nor will it bring great comfort. Yet, I consider it my duty and the bitter-sweet pleasure to tell you that till the end Monsieur de Lettenhove was a calm anchor in the midst of war.**

**While sorrow and horrors awaited us on the battlefield, his presence promised merry moments and comfort that only a few men could provide here. How he managed to obtain such a hopeful and optimistic temper is beyond me but that is of no importance. Important is only that he was a joy to have around – until the very end.**

**I confess that I cannot tell you what kind of man he was beforehand. And I am sure you will know better than me as what he wanted to be remembered.**

**But I promise that here, in our trenches, we will continue to remember him. Remember him as a great man, a fallen war hero, a grandiose poet and a unique and most special human being.**

**My deepest condolences again,**

**M. V. D.**

**Melissa von Daam; Deputy general and administrative office director**

Geralt refused to understand the words, instead, he kept reading. It was another script that met his eyes. Well, less of a script and more of a scrawl, written in a haste and without much love.

**_Report of Autopsy_ **

**_Name of the deceased: Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount “Dandelion” de Lettenhove_ **

**_Time of death: 23rd November 1414; 07:56 p.m._ **

**_Cause of death: sectioning of the left leg’s aorta with an enemy’s bullet, bleeding to death within 30 minutes_ **

**_Important Notes: /_ **

**_Important prior injuries: graze shot to the left calf, no infection, recovery going along fine_ **

**_Doctor in charge: Cletus Augustus von Steiermark-Rheulahn_ **

**_Signature : C.A.v.S-R_ **

**_The former patient, nowadays highly respected deceased soldiers were buried at the fortress Eschenberg,_ **

**_his place of eternal peace is the_ **

**_2nd Quarter, row G, N. 37_ **

Geralt looked numbly down on the letter, trying to make sense of the words but failing pathetically.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his hands first trembled, then clenched to fists, the paper in his hands crinkling. His breath hitched and his heart stumbled painfully through the next heartbeats, seemingly unable to keep up its work upon the agony of his loss.

The Witcher blinked his eyes as his sight blurred and he glanced up towards the sky when he noticed the few drops of water, presumably coming from sudden rainfall, that dared to stain the letter. His annoyance and anger towards the weather ceased instantly, replaced by irritation once he looked up into a clear, blue sky. He looked down to the paper again and it took him a moment or two to realize that the water was neither water nor rain.

It was tears that stained the smooth paper sheet and his left hand lifted itself to touch his cheeks, just to come back with wetted fingertips. He stared incredulously upon his hand and the paper sheet, slowly soaking with his tears, realizing with bewilderment that he was crying.

He, a _Witcher_ , gods-damned _crying like a young maiden, after her prince charming crushed her hopes_.

A quiet cough caused Geralt to look up suddenly, the young runner shifting from one leg to the other, a small leather pouch in his hands, a piece of parchment and a quill too. “Please accept my condolences, sir. But I still need your signature and your acquaintance’s ransom needs to be passed on.”

The boy stood solemn and serene, not daring yet to lift the objects towards the battle-hardened warrior who just stared at him with unseeing eyes. He shook himself out of the stupor and with a trembling hand that was glared at (“keep still, you darn hand” murmured underneath the Witcher’s breath), he took the quill. His signature, never as beautiful as Dandelion’s has been - had been – now even uglier, his shaking fingers refusing to move with steadiness.

Releasing the quill, the younger man first took it, then extended his arm with the ransom towards Geralt and automatically, the white-haired man held onto the little pouch in his hands.

With an understanding nod, the runner bid the Witcher goodbye, spurting off to the next kinsman or kinswoman, waiting desperately for their own field posts.

In his wake, he left a man who once, a few minutes ago that now seemed to be in another life, prided himself of complete control over his emotions. In his wake, he left a man who knew another man with the sweetest and most charming disposition, a man who had found not just his fame as a bard, but his happiness and inspiration in a friendship like neither man had ever hoped for.

In his wake he left behind a man, battling his emotions that most certainly did not feel like just a fraction of a single man’s anguish but like all the worlds grieve, crashing down on him in one moment, burying him under its weight.

On the lone road, in the wake of a young runner, there stood a man, a Witcher, a feared and respected warrior, crying softly while his knees crumbled under him, a world-shattering letter balled up in his shaking fits, a leather pouch with money that was considered equal to a man’s worth carelessly lying beside him and tears gently touching the papers.

There, on the dirty road, a man knelt with many foes and friends, with many faults and good traits; a man who, after a single letter, after 972 words, was not sure anymore to be the man that had opened the letter.

For what sense made it to live his life like before if there was no one to drag him out of his brooding? No one there who would laugh along with his lewd and questionable humour? Who would tell of his fights in the form of dramatic ballads? With whom would he cross roads, only to be invited to a mug of ale? Who would he save now from a husband’s wraith when said man’s wife succumbed to a bard’s charm?

For what was a Geralt of Riva, Witcher and monster slayer, lover and opponent in one to the sorceress Yennefer of Vengerberg without Monsieur de Lettenhove, nicknamed Dandelion, poet and womanizer, lover of many and so much more than just a simple dead soldier?


End file.
